Grossing Out Sam Winchester!
by Vanessa Sgroi
Summary: ONESHOT.  Dean's eating habits have always bugged Sam a little.  But, this dinner drives him right over the edge.  Just having a little devious fun with poor Sammy.  Reviews are like chocolate!


Disclaimer: Darn. I keep hoping that one morning I'd wake up and actually own them. But, alas, it never happens. Just having a little morbid fun with the guys.

Grossing Out Sam Winchester!

By: Vanessa Sgroi

Sam Winchester rubbed a hand tiredly over his drawn face as he slid into the restaurant booth across from his brother. Following Dean's lead, he picked up his menu and barely glanced at it before putting it back down on the table.

A few minutes after they sat down, a perky young waitress skipped up to their table. Her absolute perkiness made Sam feel even more exhausted. He blinked a few times to clear away the bleariness.

"Can I get y'all something to drink?" she bubbled.

Dean smiled flirtatiously and ordered a beer. Sam opted for a soda.

She returned momentarily and plunked their drinks down in front of them. Sam looked quizzically at his brother's beer, which appeared to be smoking. He blinked and the tricky image disappeared.

_Huh. Weird_.

Her smile wide and pen poised, the waitress asked, "So do you guys know what you want? Or do would you like to hear our specials for the day?"

Dean offered her a big smile of his own. "Nah, I think we know what we want, right, Sam?"

Sam was so dog-tired that he didn't particularly care what he ate so he ordered a grilled chicken sandwich with a side of onion rings. He heard Dean give his order but paid no attention to exactly what his brother's choice of sustenance was.

While they waited for their food, Sam sipped his soda and listened to Dean prattle on about some potential hunt or another. His stomach made several odd gurgling noise and rolled over. Sam gave a little involuntary hiccup-burp and tasted bile in the back of this throat.

_Ugh._

Sam pressed a hand to his stomach and took another drink of his pop. He tried to remain tuned in to Dean's rambling and was apparently able to at least make appropriate grunts of interest at the right times, because Dean never looked up from the paper on which he'd scribbled some notes.

The waitress returned and placed their plates in front of them. One whiff of his food, though, and Sam's already non-existent appetite dived south. He lackadaisically picked up an onion ring, took a bite, and dropped it back down on his plate. As he chewed what tasted like a rubberband, he looked over at Dean's plate. And almost choked on his bite of onion ring.

"Dean! You . . . God, you're not gonna EAT that are you?"

The elder Winchester looked down at his appetizer sampler platter, consisting of buffalo chicken strips, mozzarella sticks, and Jalapeno Poppers, and then up at his brother with a frown.

"Of course, I am. Why the hell wouldn't I?" He picked up a chicken strip and stuffed it into his mouth.

Sam watched in horror as Dean popped the gigantic, hairy tarantula into his mouth. The creature's long legs hung limply from between his sibling's lips as he chewed vigorously.

"Mmmm, good stuff!" commented Dean. He looked at his brother and noticed the odd expression on his face. He sighed. "Man, you're not gonna lecture me about how bad fried food is or something, are you?" Dean picked up another chicken strip and exuberantly shoved it into his mouth.

Sam gasped and swallowed, hard. "Dean!" Sam watched as the other man picked up one of the grizzled brown fingers off his plate, dipped it in a miniature container of thick blood, and nibbled at one end.

Dean savored the mozzarella stick dipped in marinara sauce. "What?"

"How . . . how . . . that's . . . I . . ."

"You want some?" asked Dean, holding out one of the gruesome fingers to Sam.

"NO!"

Dean shrugged. "Your loss. This stuff tastes pretty good. How about one of these," Dean held out a breaded, cheese-stuffed jalapeno, "Wanna try it?"

Sam looked at the dead mouse Dean was trying to tempt him with. Utterly speechless and repulsed with horror, he violently shook his head. He saw Dean shrug again, then open his mouth wide, dropping the mouse inside. There was an audible crunch when he bit down.

"Oh, God—Dean!" The young hunter's stomach flipped upside down and then right side up and then side-to-side.

Finally hearing the very real distress in his brother's voice, Dean looked up and noticed the decidedly unhealthy-looking greenish tinge to Sam's face. "Sammy, what's wrong?"

The tall man stared at the smear of crimson blood that began to dribble down Dean's chin and his stomach viciously cramped. Slapping a hand over his mouth, Sam stumbled from the booth and raced for the bathroom, his long legs carrying him there in record time. He slammed the door open with the hand not covering his mouth.

"Ah, damn. Guess we better find a motel and quick," muttered Dean. He picked up a napkin and wiped at the melted cheddar cheese glistening on his chin. He took a final sip of cold beer before retrieving money from his wallet and tossing it down on the table. As he threw the money down on the table, he looked down at the remaining food on his plate and wondered just what his brother had thought he was eating. Dean ruefully shook his head. Whatever was going on in the kid's head, or in his body for that matter, Dean had a feeling that he and his brother were in for a long, long night.

_**THE END**_


End file.
